


Calico Skies

by mrwonderwoman (fem_castielnovak)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bathing/Washing, Clint Barton is a slut for affection, Dirty Talk, Emotional Sex, Endearments, First Time, Getting Together, Insecure Clint, Insecure Phil, Intimacy, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Riding, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-29 20:58:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11448942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fem_castielnovak/pseuds/mrwonderwoman
Summary: Clint likes small spaces. What can he say?So maybe that means he sometimes finds himself curled up in somebody's bathtub contemplating his life choices.Super gross sappiness including love confessions and romantic bathtub sex in an unrealistically large tub.





	Calico Skies

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote way too much. This was supposed to be like 5k max but Clint Barton is a whore for love and tenderness and so am I. Also there is gratuitous forearm kink bc seriously we all talk a lot of talk about how great Phil's forearms are but I feel like it never really features _in media concubitus_.

 

 

Phil's bathroom is nice. The mirror is big and wide, and aside from the bright, yellowish overhead and vanity lighting that Phil probably uses during the day, there's a soft and dim white lamp over the sink. Turning it on puts the blue and white themed bathroom on the paler end of the greyscale, almost washed of color.  
The glow is even dimmer from behind Phil's layered, white and translucent shower curtains. Clint stares at the gleaming porcelain of the tub between his feet and wonders at why he isn't cold yet. With his knees bent, he takes up less than half of the space, even if the self-imposed position leaves the basin faucet digging into his back when he shifts. Small spaces and compacted positioning feel more defensible; safer. Not that there's anything tangible to be prepared against at the moment.

Clint sniffs, and the sound fills up the tiled room.

He's perfectly safe here in Phil's home. No one's coming after him, there's not a time limit that he's under - it's just his anxieties flaring up. Logic and reasoning about the situation got lost a few hours ago but they're still somewhere in his head. He's just gotta talk himself down; keep talking himself through the scenario that he's living out. Fight the dread and consider the circumstances that are to come. 

He can do this. 

"I can do this," he whispers. 

It's not like this is going to be a hardship. Being with Phil is great. It feels more like giving into temptation than anything else.  
At least he likes this. At least Phil seems to care about him while they're in bed. Even having only done this once, Phil's  _so_ good to him. So attentive. Clint's even excited at the prospect of getting to do it again.  
Though, none of that is exactly a surprise, and it doesn't mean anything special. Phil Coulson is responsible and respectful; he's not the kind of guy who's going to get off if his partner isn't enjoying it, too. Reciprocity is all it is.  
And that's fine - reciprocity is nice. It's really all he can - should - ask for. He shifts against the porcelain basin. 

_He can do this_. 

Maybe he shouldn't have to convince himself of that. He should probably be jumping at the chance to have part of his greatest wishes fulfilled. But one day, Phil's going to want more than a fuck, because Phil Coulson is relationship material. And when that day comes, Clint knows he's gonna be holding on with both fists to every second that he got to have of Phil's time and attention. He'll hate himself a little bit more if he doesn't take all the opportunities that present themselves in the interim.

He doesn't plan on hiding the nature of his attraction. If it's not an open secret at the start, there's no good way for it to reveal itself along the way. Clint would actually prefer it if Phil ended up using that as the reason they stopped seeing each other. It would be better than learning whatever real reason Phil ends up having for wanting to break things off with him; better than finding something else to hate himself for. So he's going to make his feelings just noticeable enough that Phil's aware of them and won't have to acknowledge them if he doesn't want to. It isn't going to make the idea of putting himself in that place of emotional vulnerability any easier, though. 

"I can do this," he whispers a second time, almost inaudibly. 

_He didn't say he'd keep you_ , a voice in his head nags.  _He didn't say he'd keep you, or that he'd want you more than once, or give you any feedback beyond a really nice smile and the allowance for you to stay the night_.  
But Clint didn't really expect more than what he's been given already. He didn't expect less either - which doesn't explain where his absurd hopes have had room to grow. But grow they have. He shakes his head slowly back and forth, twisting out nonexistent cricks in his neck. This is stupid. His fantasies had just gotten away from him in the moment, that's all.  

He doesn't need to be wooed. Romantic gestures aren't in the cards for him. Clint scoffs to himself. The idea of actual dates - nice dinners, walks in the park, being taken to museums and plays and other classy places - was far-fetched at best. Limiting their activities outside of work to sex (beyond the usual sports games, takeout, and Dog Cops) isn't a bad thing. Clint shivers and reaches up to a tender spot on his collarbone; drags his fingers up and across to trace a matching pink spot low on his neck. Yeah, he could get used to that. Phil is  _great_ in bed. Even if they don't get more intimate than fucking. Even if what they do is going to end up leaving Clint clinging to every tender gesture and futilely wishing to slow things down until they spill over into more-than-fucking. 

Christ, how much pining is it going to take before it gets through his head? Clint has learned more than once to take what he can get and make do. He can roll over and become a hole for Phil to fuck whenever it's convenient. He's certainly been less to people before. This is good though. Clint doesn't have to ask for anything more than a warm hand and a few kisses. Phil's generous enough that he'll probably provide beyond that anyways.

He sniffs again but the sound isn't as loud now that he knows just how noises echo in here. He's always been good at crying quietly.

It's not as if he's going to be left hanging. Phil's let him stay the night; probably expressly for the purpose of giving him a talking to in the morning. That conclusion brings out a budding panic but Clint derails the train of thought before he's sucked back into hashing out all the agonizing ways Phil might say they have to keep this on the DL or that it can't happen again. 

And it would be fair if he decided that. Clint knew all the potential of what he might be getting into as soon as the night started. He's thought about the different outcomes that this kind of thing between them could lead to. A lot.

He puts his head in his hands and scrubs at his face.

Six and a half years of working together, almost his entire SHIELD career, and he's finally made it to the limit. He's taken his relationship with Phil as far as it'll go. All that's left is the end; a roughly sketched future with a hopefully distant end. 

 

Clint hears a soft noise from beyond the space of the stall but closes his eyes until Phil pulls the curtains back. Clint looks up, and is surprised to find Phil just as naked as he still is. The sentiment persists when Phil climbs into the tub to join him. He sits down and mirrors Clint's position as Clint fights off a guilty blush and panic at being discovered. 

"So," Phil says, like Clint has a plan and he's waiting to hear it, "what're we doing in here?"

Clint likes how soft Phil is keeping his voice. He's doing a good job of preserving the sense of safety Clint had managed to build in this space. He only shrugs in response. 

"Okay," Phil says, and he makes it sound like it really is okay that Clint either doesn't have an answer for him or doesn't want to answer. Over the years, Phil has gotten very good at that tone, and it never fails to bring Clint's guard down. 

"We did just have sex though," Phil adds smoothly, "So you can understand why I might be a little concerned to find you huddled in here and crying."

Clint hunches his shoulders. 

"You aren't hurt, are you?"

Clint shakes his head, "No," he says a little hoarsely, and stares at the white porcelain under him. He sees Phil nod in response, out of the corner of his eye. 

"If there's anyone I might guess you'd be alright being straightforward with, under the circumstances, it would be me." Clint cringes inwardly, because Phil lets him alone about so many different things and only calls him out when he really thinks that it's necessary. Phil shrugs, "At least, that's what I hope. It's how I feel about you," he smiles, small and self-deprecatingly, then amends; "When I'm not trying to be a brick wall between you and the world."

Because Phil's proven to be a good judge on the matter, Clint has learned to trust the moments his handler chooses to call him out. He feels squirmy, but doesn't actually want to lie to Phil about this. There's not enough of a reason to. And he hadn't meant for it, but he is aware that it's disconcerting to find someone huddled and damp-eyed in your bathroom, so yeah, maybe some explanations are in order. 

"Um, I uh- I need lots of affection after sex or I get like this," he gestures at himself in an indication of his current state. "Sometimes, anyways. And I'm not asking you to give that to me-," he says quickly, "-I'm not going to make you give me that. I'm fine on my own. Really. This is just how I get. How, how I process emotions, or whatever," he sniffs and wipes his nose. 

"What's there to process?" Phil asks, not unkindly. 

Clint's stomach drops anyways and his hand falls away from where it had been covering -  _wiping at_  his eyes. He feels his mouth go a little slack and his expression dry up, but Phil's already reaching out to put a hand on Clint's knee. 

"That's not what I meant; I'm processing emotions, too." His tone and body language are reassuring, "I just want to know what it is that you're feeling." The question hangs for a beat. 

Clint keeps eye contact, and swallows hard, "Happy. That you want me this way."  
_That you let me stay the night.  
That you're not asking me to leave, now. _  
_That you're here; that you came and found me._  

"I'm happy, too," Phil says softly. 

"Good," Clint replies in kind. 

"...Anything else?"

_Worried_ , Clint thinks, but that one's sort of less important now that Phil's here and they're actually dealing with the situation. "I'm pretty glad that you didn't freak out when you found me crying in your bathtub."

"I've found you in weirder places, doing stranger things," Phil says with a smile. "I don't think anything will compare to the first time I discovered you in the vents, though. So it may just be that I'm jaded." 

The moment settles and Clint looks down between his feet, "Still ..." 

"You should have said something," Phil tells him, but it doesn't sound like a reprimand. Just a suggestion. Clint shrugs. Again. 

"Would you like some now?" Phil asks, shifting oddly. Clint's expression contracts in confusion. 

"Affection?" Phil asks -  _offers_ , and emphasizes how his arms are held out, open and inviting. In this moment Clint doesn't know how he could have thought that Coulson would ever just objectify or use him. Phil is a good man, and Clint is just a paranoid fuck. 

He starts to lean forward but hesitates halfway through the motion. 

"Clint?" Phil asks, arms still held wide. 

Clint swallows and shakes his head, moving all the way forward to settle into Phil like this can be a tender moment. It doesn't take much to convince Clint that he can give himself this. Not when he wants it so badly. Limbs are maneuvered until Clint is curled up between Phil's splayed legs, torso pressed to a solid chest with his head against Phil's collarbone and one arm wrapped low across Phil's back. Clint curls his right hand around the very nice hip within his reach and slips his left one between their torsos. Toned arms fold neatly around him - warm and comforting. It makes Clint go back to what had made him hesitate and he wants to bite his lip to keep from saying something stupid. Phil's fingers curl and rub in tiny, absentminded motions. Clint holds his breath in deliberation but lets out a sigh just before he's sure Phil is going to say something. 

"Um, in the interest of full disclosure ..." he takes a moment to catalogue how Phil feels against him, "This probably means a lot more to me than it does to you." 

Phil hums - something between thoughtful and noncommittal. The little, soft scritching motions he's making with his fingers don't falter. 

"I don't know about that." His words are a hum in Clint's ear. Clint closes his eyes. Phil's left hand sweeps up his back until it rests at the crown of Clint's head, making alternate scritches to the ones Phil's right hand is still making low on his side. "I've thought a lot about having nights like this with you."

Clint nods because he gets it; "The sex?"

Phil's rhythm changes and his fingers start swirling back and forth on Clint's side. "The sex ... But this too." He takes a deep breath, "This is nice," he says - an affirmation. He exhales.

"Would-," Clint starts without really thinking. He's graced with a moment to gather his words but uncertainty consumes it. 

"What?" Phil asks and it's that same soft tone he's been using this whole time that gets Clint.

"Would you want to do it again some time?"

"I would love to," Phil tells him, and the weight in his words transfers directly to Clint's gut. "As many times as you'll allow."

Clint opens his eyes but ducks his head further, until the hair on Phil's chest is pressing against his cheek and jaw. Phil's arms tighten around him. 

"That's good," is all he says in response. 

The lift and drop of Phil's lungs under him is a rhythm he's fallen asleep to more than once. But these are by far the best conditions under which he's been allowed to rest against it. Clint thinks about everything that has led them to this moment. 

"You're my white knight, you know," Clint says to the firm expanse of Phil's chest. Phil doesn't do or say anything to acknowledge the statement. He shifts backwards to look up at Phil, expecting to be met with a partial view of his chin, but Phil is already looking at him. "You're the guy who rode into my life to save me and then swept me off my feet. I- You're important. To me. And I kind of just want you to know that."

Nothing changes, visibly, but Clint can hear Phil get quiet - draw into himself just a little. "Is that why you slept with me?" his voice is dry and resigned. 

Clint ducks his head and feels himself blush violently; is sure Phil can tell he's blushing violently from the heat of his face against Phil's bare skin. Phil speaking with any degree of uncertainty always makes him nervous. 

"No," he answers, and it sounds petulant, "I slept with you because you're fucking hot."  _Because I'm head over heels for you_ , he thinks. "Like a James Bond wetdream or something," he says instead. 

Phil hums but it doesn't sound dismissive, maybe almost  _sportive_ , "Good to know what it is you see in me." 

"It's more than that," Clint says, trying to use this momentum to come back to himself from the mood Phil had found him in. "Your apartment is super nice. I mean, look at this tub," he reaches out to run a knuckle along the inner rim. "It's the closest thing I've ever seen in real life to being able to fit two grown men comfortably."

"My bathtub and my body ..." Clint smiles at Phil's faux-thoughtful tone. "There are worse things to be valued for."

"There sure are, sir," Clint says easily, because this is how they always banter. 

"Nuh-uh," and Phil suddenly sounds very no-nonsense, "None of that when we're like this." 

And maybe Clint's imagining it but it definitely sounded like there was a little hesitation on that last part. "Yes,  _sir_ ," he purrs, and spreads his fingers wide against Phil's sternum, because maybe he's feeling provocative. 

" _Clint_ ," Phil says in a warning tone. 

"C'mon," he goads. "You know you'd have fun with this." Clint lets his hand play over Phil's chest, "Don't you wanna boss me around? Tell me what to do? Make me behave for once? ...Punish me when I don't?"

"You always follow my orders," Phil argues gently. 

"Yeah, because your orders are good. But this would be for fun. You know I'm not well behaved." The only reaction Clint gets when he pinches a nipple is a hint of sharpness to Phil's breath. "You'd get a kick out of doing this; it's right up your alley."  Clint rakes his nails through the dark hair on Phil's chest and grins viciously, "I bet you're such a kinky fuck."

Phil halts Clint's teasing by taking hold of his hand, " _If_ that's something you want," he brings their hands up to press a kiss to Clint's knuckles and Clint practically gapes up at him, "then we can talk about it later."

Clint swallows heavily and stares hard at Phil's face because he's gotta do something to avoid looking at their joined hands. Phil thinks there's going to be a later. And yeah, maybe two minutes ago he'd said "as many times as you'll allow" but that answer kind of sounded like bullshit. Together, though, those two things - a lot of things about tonight, actually - are maybe giving Clint some foundation for hope. 

He dips his head again and brings their joined hands back to where his had been resting before, between them. Phil must take his silence for acquiescence, because something aligns, and they settle into each other once more. Clint curls his fingers tighter around Phil's and shivers. A warm hand sweeps down his back. 

"You're cold," Phil says like he hasn't been pressed against Clint's clammy skin for the better part of a half hour. Clint shrugs; he doesn't want to move. "Would you like me to run us a bath while we're down here?"

That actually sounds pretty fucking perfect right now. 

"S'il vous plaît, garçon," Clint drawls, because he thinks he's funny. He's gratified with a quirk in the corner of Phil's mouth before getting a prompting pat to the hip. With a wiggle, he shifts enough so that Phil can sit forward and lean around him to reach the faucet. 

"Do you need to take your ears out?" he asks, hand braced on the hot water knob. Clint shakes his head. They're the tiny ones he wears on missions - they can take a lot of shit, and he's very much enjoying being able to hear and read Phil's tone of voice right now. 

Phil turns the handle - water gushes out cold and loud against the basin and the relative silence in the room. Clint watches Phil's hand fall from the curve of the tap into the stream from the faucet. He lets it run for a minute to clear the cool water before plugging the drain, and the flow looks beautiful rolling over his skin. He shakes off the droplets a little and reaches for the lowest shelf on the shower caddy. 

"Supersport or cucumber mint?" he asks, gesturing to the bottles on the rack. 

Clint snorts, "Cucumber mint." 

There's a thrumming under his skin where Phil's hand is braced against his side, keeping them both steady as Phil pours in bubbles one-handed. Well, calling it actual bubble-bath soap is a stretch, but it is a very nicely foaming shower gel. 

"Why do you have a soap called 'supersport?'"

Phil shrugs, "It smells nice." He props the bottle back on the ledge where it belongs.

"Fair enough," Clint sighs as Phil moves back against the far end of the tub, his hand still against Clint's side. A thrill jets through him as they lean into the wall and Phil actually  _gathers Clint to his chest_ , tighter than before, even. It leaves him with his face smushed up against some pretty great pecs. Clint flattens his hand against them because it had felt really nice earlier. Phil's body is warm and reassuring. It's external proof of his capability, and at close range particularly, it feels like safety and comfort. 

 

"My God, your chest is amazing." Clint wants to rub his face against it. 

Phil makes a noise that might be a scoff, "I don't know that anything compares to yours." His leg shifts in the water and Clint watches the ripples around it instead of rolling his eyes. 

"Take the compliment, Phil."

"You do fit very nicely against it, I suppose," he responds after a minute. 

" _Very_ nicely," Clint agrees. He shifts his hand to cop another feel. "Hey, how did you know I like bubble baths?"

"Call it intuition."

"Mmmm," Clint hums a little skeptically. He takes a deep breath - soaks up the bright scent of the soap with his lungs. Slowly, the steam builds up around them. The effect is better than a sedative. This is perfect. He's right where he wants to be and as the waters rise, more and more of his anxieties wick away to his periphery.  
Tomorrow doesn't matter at the moment. Everything is going to be fine then because everything is fine now. Nothing fundamental has changed between them; nothing's broken. They'll sort themselves out and be back at work on Monday without a hitch. That's a feasible delusion to live right now, Clint thinks.

His eyelids drop closed. 

Phil has more than earned this place in Clint's life. And maybe he never asked for it - never intended to mean so much to Clint - but this feels like a really nice moment between the two of them, and he's glad they made it to now. 

He lets his head drop until it's resting against the ball of his fist on the hand between their torsos.

There's no need to defend himself here. 

 

"Are you comfortable?" Phil asks softly. 

"Yeah," Clint breathes. His eyes flutter open to stare at the porcelain beyond Phil's arm. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you," Phil whispers. 

"No, no, you didn't. This ... this is really nice," Clint says, caught off guard by how emotionally tangled he feels. The need to finish his thought overrides his sense of self preservation and any inclination he might have towards keeping his mouth shut; "I don't usually get this much attention, or- as much as I want, anyways." This is where he gives it up, isn't it? This bathtub - here, in Phil's arms is where he loses last ounce of resistance - the last wall separating himself and all his vulnerabilities from Phil. "Especially not when I've slept with a guy." He swallows, and Phil's grip tightens on him. "This means a lot to me."

"I'm glad," Phil says softly and Clint feels panic rising - all his worries come flooding back, because it almost sounds patronizing and he's just put himself out there and the pride of being capable of doing so is suddenly warring with embarrassed anxiety. 

"I-I don't always get this needy, it's just ..." The fears well up and clog his throat.  

_I'm afraid you'll leave me._

_I'm afraid you won't want me now that you've gotten everything I have to give._

"What?" Phil whispers against the side of his head; soft, entreating. Clint shivers gently. Where have all his defenses gone? How did Phil know exactly what to do in order to take him apart, and at what point this evening had it happened? 

A breath and a call for time out - an exit and space is all it would take for him to build some resistance again. Clint knows that there's a shakiness under his skin threatening to break out. He doesn't feel so edgy anymore but there's still that everpresent, underlying urge to tempt fate. And so he angles his head up to stare Phil in the face as the words spill from his lips; "It's just that I'm in love with you."

A pained little furrow digs itself between Phil's brows, "Clint," he whispers, and his hand, spread wide, lifts to the side of Clint's face. Clint doesn't let his eyelids fall, nor does he lean into the touch the way he wants to. He has to see this out; every last second. Phil's expression is soft, and vulnerable, and unbelievably kind. Which only makes Clint want to brace himself for the worst. 

"Say something," he whispers back. Because shit, fuck, he's always gotta push it.

Phil's searching his face when he says, "I'm trying to figure out if I'm still asleep."

"Fuck, Phil," Clint bites his tongue, because what the hell is that line supposed to mean?

"What?" he asks, expectant, like Clint's the one being cryptic. 

"You're ... supposed to tell me whether this is okay or not. And you- you're supposed to be  _reassuring_ about it either way."

"That's a lot to expect of me," Phil says, still quiet. They're both still being quiet. 

Clint reaches up to smooth the crease between Phil's eyebrows with his thumb. He traces down the line of Phil's nose with his index finger as he lets his hand fall away. "Don't tell me you've never planned for this." His other hand re-firms its grasp on Phil's hip. "You have a plan for everything." Clint hadn't thought of it before but now he's picturing Phil formulating a basic speech that he'd give to any and all subordinate agents who developed crushes on the incredible Agent Coulson. 

Phil swallows hard and his thumb twitches against Clint's cheek like it wants to move, "I also pride myself on not getting my hopes too high."

Clint stifles what might've been a gasp - a hitched breath, but he doesn't stop his lips from parting as he studies Phil's face. He inhales.  

"Then let this be a lesson to you," he says as his gaze falls to Phil's mouth.

The peek of pink tongue between Phil's lips is fair enough warning to have Clint leaning forward and meeting Phil halfway. A pause and a breath separate them until they don't, until their mouths have met and the necessity for reassurance evaporates. Stillness wraps around them as they move together. Clint's hand keeps a delicate touch against Phil's chest even as Phil's arms hold tight around him. Their lips work against each other so goddam gently, Clint wants to cry. It's a happy thing. 

When they break, there's no panting - just soft exhales bouncing between them. Clint's eyes legitimately flutter open, but he's left staring at Phil who still has his head bowed close and his eyes shut - blissfully, Clint thinks privately, like maybe he's trying to savor the moment. Clint holds onto the sight but he can't stand actually looking at the expression for too long. So he noses back in to coax Phil into more kisses. Phil is quick to take him up again, the same reverence held between them, but with a building urgency. And it's easy to get lost in the sharp inhales and tight suction, the sound of water still rushing in the background because Phil's tub is big enough to take a real fuckin long time to fill up. 

This time, there is gasping when they separate. Clint had been just about ready to try twisting into a better angle. He hadn't been ready to stop the kiss though, so he leans in breathlessly to keep stealing more. 

Phil lets him - reciprocates warmly, even, but then he pulls away. "I love you back," he says quickly, his eyes searching Clint's face, and his words a harsh whisper before he darts back in to lock their mouths together. Clint whimpers and Phil's hand moves soothingly against the side of his face. 

It feels like it lasts for so long. The hope and timid victory he'd taken from their first kiss so much earlier in the evening, has been replaced by the bright, shaky joy of reciprocation. There's so much of it bubbling inside him. Clint thinks about osmosis and how much of his feelings he's conveying, or how much he might be getting from Phil. 

Their kisses break off one by one, ( _like trailing sparks_ , Clint thinks), until they're left with shared air and both their noses digging into the other's cheek. Clint can't stop trying to look at Phil's eyes, even at such close range. Phil finally blinks and looks up at him through his lashes and Clint smiles at him. He can feel that his expression is lopsided but can't be bothered to affect something that's so genuine. 

"This is a little surreal," Phil says softly.

"Yeah, I'll say," Clint breathes, his eyes lazily dragging over Phil's features. "Can we keep kissing?" Clint asks, mostly because it seems like Phil's thinking about something.

"Sure," Phil tells him, "Is that all you want to do?"

Clint is already zeroing back in on Phil's mouth, "For now ..." Thinking beyond the moment is proving to be a bit difficult. This really is pretty surreal. So he falls into the pressure and the rhythm and abstract thoughts of a future full of this before he lets it gentle back down. 

"What is it you want to say?" Clint asks, sucking his own lips into his mouth to taste them and settle the buzzing in the nerves there. He lets his free hand fall into the water to swish through the bubbles. Phil starts to shake his head and swoop back in but Clint puts a hand to his chest, "What is it?" he asks, pecking Phil's mouth once because  _it's okay_ , he just wants to know. 

"This would be long term for you, wouldn't it?" he asks, and Clint nods. 

"It already is," he adds. 

Briefly, it looks like Phil is just taking a chance to consider him. Like a space to divide the moment. Coulson always puts a lot of thought into the things he says, especially when he thinks it's important. Clint appreciates that. And he appreciates feeling important.  

"You're more than I'd ever hoped to get a chance of having," Phil tells him, adjusting where his hand sits along Clint's side. "You understand," he says, like there's more to what he's saying and he actually believes Clint understands.

Clint sounds sedate when he asks, "What do I understand?"

Phil takes half a heartbeat to answer with; "Me. My insecurities. Who I am and how I function as a person." He folds himself closer to Clint, "The man behind the suit."

Clint's own heart speeds up a little because this is only confirming his personal assessment of their relationship; how close they are and exactly how well they know each other. How he's felt and thought about Phil for years. "You can't hide in plain sight from the world's greatest marksman," he says with a smile, like he's sure of himself. 

But Phil just seems to be studying his face, and Clint lets him. 

"I'm always going to worry that I won't be enough for you."

Clint shakes his head, "You meet my needs before I even ask. You're all my dreams come true."

That earns him half a smile. "What part of 'white knight' don't I get, huh?" Phil asks sardonically.

"I'm serious," Clint says. He searches Phil's expression, "That's really who you've always been to me. I mean-," that description doesn't do him justice; Phil's more dimensional than that, "That may have been who you were to me at first, but ... I grew out of seeing you  _only_  as that when- when I realized what a huge fucking dork you are."

Phil huffs a laugh, which is what Clint was going for.

"And then we became friends," he adds, seriously. "And I just- ... You're so great. You were so great to me. At a time when I really needed it. I mean, I was making so many friends at once, I kind of didn't know what to do with them all. So it wasn't that I was lonely or anything. But you were-  you were the hardest one to just accept, because I trusted you. A lot. It felt like you were always looking out for me - in and out of the field."

"I was."

"I know. Now, at least. But, I kind of struggled with convincing myself that it wasn't just a game you were playing with me." Clint half expects to be asked what changed, but Phil doesn't say anything, so he goes on; "It was a weird balance of trying to impress you and push you to your limit. Of tolerating me." Phil grunts a soft hum, like that makes sense to him. "Still not sure how I never found it. I gotta say, your patience is pretty impressive ..."

"Is that it?" Phil asks after a moment.

"Yeah," Clint tells him, not sure what Phil's lack of response is supposed to mean. 

Phil's hand comes up and he strokes his thumb over Clint's cheek. "Good," he says - his hand sweeps down to tilt Clint's chin up for a kiss, "I was worried there for a minute that you were making me out to be far more than I was." Clint gets two more kisses. "But I think we can get away with chalking up the overestimation that is there, to infatuation." Clint hums disapprovingly but lets Phil kiss him again. "And I'll be glad," Phil continues, "To let you keep testing my limits. I'm confident that you won't find them." Clint wants to protest but Phil runs a gentle hand over the curve of his scalp and adds, "If only because you'll further endear yourself to me before you push too hard." His hand glides back up to keep petting Clint's scalp.

Clint sighs and slumps further into his chest, "You're too good to me."

"Just good enough, I think." Phil plants a kiss on his head, "You deserve a lot of love, Clint Barton."

Clint stifles a whimper. God, he's such a slut for affection.  
He tries to let the quiet dispel the intensity of the moment they've just had. Phil nuzzles against the side of his head, though, and, of course, Clint's dick jumps in appreciation.  With the warm water and Phil being so close and affectionate and then saying sweet things - Clint has started getting hard just from proximity and handful of words. He shifts his seat to try and make it less overt. He keeps his head dipped even though it leaves him staring at the evidence of his own embarrassment where the tip of his cockhead is poking out of the water. 

A thoughtful hum and Phil's hand drops gracefully into the water. Clint bites his lip as he watches him reach one finger out and drag it delicately up the length of Clint's cock. 

"Do you want to do something about this?" he asks, and taps the tip of his dick. Clint flinches - the measured touches increasing how responsive he is in spite of his abashedness. Phil's invitation makes him feel like he's being fitted into place. And it's really, really sexy. 

The finger becomes fing _ers_  as he trails them up Clint's stomach. He wants to come back with something witty, but his cockiness falters -  _fails_ him, really - and he's left feeling silly. The pink on his face is warm enough that he can feel it deepening, stretching down his neck. 

"Look at that blush," Phil remarks, and just-  _God_ , "It's terribly pretty on you." 

Clint shifts into the touch and sighs as Phil's fingers sweep upwards and move back and forth across his chest, dragging against his nipples.

"I had no idea you'd be this sweet," Phil tells him, and wow, Clint actually can't remember the last time someone called him sweet, unironically. He's glad Phil seems to know how to roll with this because Clint relies on his charm and wit for 90% of social interactions so he's kind of at a loss here. His dick seems to be carrying the message pretty well though, where it's standing straight up; flagrant, obvious. So maybe Phil can read into that. 

"When did you get so shy?" he asks and presses a kiss against Clint's cheek, "Sweet boy."

_Christ_. It's not as if he can duck his head any further, so even though it mostly just confirms his embarrassment, he buries his face against Phil's chest. Jeez, he really fucking likes Phil calling him  _sweet_. Phil's hand strokes down his back. 

"How much convincing would I have to do to get you to ride me right now?"

"Holy fuck," Clint's dick jerks violently. "Pretty much none," he answers, finally looking up at Phil. And yeah, they're definitely not close enough for Clint's tastes. So he leans in and turns to get astride Phil's thighs, with his knees pressed to the back of the tub.

"Better?," Phil asks once Clint's settled in his lap. 

Clint rolls his hips forward, "Fuck, yeah."

"Glad to hear it," Phil says, because he's a smartass. 

Clint gives another short thrust in response, but then he twists around and leans back to search the shower caddie. "I'm still wet from earlier," Clint assures him, "But this should get me all the way there." He comes away with a bottle and waggles it, which Phil regards skeptically. 

"Conditioner? Really?"

Clint winks at him. "Don't try this at home, kids," he says before working two conditioner-covered fingers back into his somewhat-loose hole. 

"You could always let me up to get the lube from the other room," Phil suggests. 

"Not worth it," Clint says then hisses, slowing down his movements. 

"You sure?" Phil smooths a hand along Clint's thigh. 

"I'm gonna keep you right here between my legs until I get what I want."

Phil's hand comes up to hold one of his asscheeks. Eyes locked with Clint's, he leans in and lets his breath fall over Clint's chest. "And what might that be?" he asks before opening his mouth and pressing the flat of his tongue to Clint's nipple. Clint's fingers tighten on the porcelain lip of the tub because  _Christ_ , his nipples are sensitive. He heaves a horribly embarrassing, breathy moan when Phil does it again. He pulls back, looking up at Clint through his lashes and wearing a smug grin as he noses teasingly against Clint's chest. 

Clint grunts as he keeps working himself open. "Your  _dick_ ," he answers, trying to make it sound as lewd as possible. "Your fat, bare dick is what I want."

"No condom?" Phil asks.

"I'm sorry, didn't we have this conversation earlier? At length and in depth? Is this déjà vu?" 

Phil's expression is decidedly unimpressed, "Yes, and we still ended up using a condom last time."

"Ugh, fine,  _no_ , I do not want you to A) get up, B) leave for any amount of time, or C) get a rubber, because I want your come in my ass like, yesterday."

He takes his hand off the side of the tub where he's been supporting himself and reaches for Phil's. As much as he likes Phil playing with his tits, he'd rather not kill the mood by accidentally falling over. He leaves Phil's right hand on his ass and guides the left one up to his rib cage so he still has support but he's free to reach down between them and start jerking Phil's dick. 

"Jeez, Phil, and I thought I was thick. Never gonna get over the fact that you pack this kind of heat." The slide of his fingers is tight and quick in his eagerness. "Could'a guessed it though. Kind of al- _ah_ -always suspected." He spreads his fingers wide inside himself and bites his lip to stifle a soft sound, "Seriously; spank-bank material for  _years_."

Clint's expecting amusement, but Phil just sounds a little bewildered when he answers; "Just the fact that I have a big dick?"

"Ugh,  _yes_. And now you  _talking_  about your big dick, too." Clint has to shift a little to get some pressure off of his knees, and he gets a new angle with his fingers. "'M not a size queen, but  _you_  having a horse cock like this just does all-" he gasps, "all kinds of things for me."

Phil's lips part as Clint works him, but he still has enough wits about him to respond with, "I'm glad to hear it."

"Oh, are you?" Clint asks because two can play at that game.

Phil tries to stifle a grunt, "It might be a little inconvenient if you didn't have some appreciation. But I don't know that I'm large enough to keep a true size queen satisfied."

Clint can't help the laugh that escapes him, "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

Phil's eyes flutter and he rolls his hips into Clint's grip, "Are we still talking about my dick?"

Clint falls forward into a kiss that's more about getting Phil to stop saying pedantic shit than anything else. "We weren't," he answers, "but I would be more than happy to go back to that. Maybe tell you about how I cannot wait until I can get my mouth back on that monster because I really fucking love giving head." He'd gotten a taste earlier - at the beginning of their first round. There's nothing like having a dick in his mouth. The heat of it, how it feels soft but stiff against his tongue. It had only been a brief part of their foreplay, before Phil had pulled him up into a kiss that became heavy petting. Now, he grins, "I'd blow you right now, but I don't have gills."

"Don't think I don't want my turn with you either," Phil tells him, and Clint smiles down at him. 

"I'm counting on it," he says, still grinning, then presses down hard inside himself. "Oh yeah," he drawls, and rubs a little before pulling his fingers out. He rinses them off in the water a little. "Ready?" he asks Phil. 

Phil serves him a devastating expression, "More than."

Clint holds onto the arm Phil has steadying him with one hand and reaches back to line up Phil's dick with his hole. He rolls his shoulders and relaxes with intent and then he's sinking down onto the hot, hard tip. He groans as his head falls back - it's not forced but he knows how good he looks like this, stretched out with his neck exposed and chest pushed forward. 

" _Yeah_ ," he sighs. Phil's hand moves from his ass up to the empty set of ribs so he's bracing Clint on both sides. Clint's hands fall naturally to his arms, curling gently around the tan muscle, steadying himself as he sinks. The slow pace keeps the muscles of his thighs flexed as he earns the width of Phil's cock. He wiggles a little, inching down and savoring the feeling of Phil's fingers interlocked with his ribs. His knees slip on the basin of the tub and with a gasp, he drops the rest of the way down onto Phil's lap. It leaves him momentarily breathless, his eyes locked on the ceiling until he can focus on the fullness. He clenches and Phil groans. He pulls himself back together a little, shutting his eyes. 

"Mmm, I fucking love this, though. Love your big, wide hands all over me..." His head tips forward and he opens his his eyes to find Phil watching him. Clint wants to puff up a little at the obvious hunger he's met with. He swivels his hips enough to draw a low, satisfied noise out of Phil. Clint tightens his grip on him as he braces himself to sit up. "Having them hold me is the best." He eases himself back down. "And your forearms fucking kill me." He runs his hands up and down said forearms, " _Especially_ , when you're wearing a white shirt and you've got the sleeves rolled up.  _Nnnh-_   I want to stare at them and have them wrapped around me all the damn time. Bet you could hold me down so well." He pictures his wrists bound by Phil's hands, as he rocks upwards then he sits down hard, "They look like they got carved out of fucking marble. God, one day I wanna sit in your lap and have you jerk me off just so I can watch them flex." He lifts himself back up, Phil helping, and  _shit_ -

"I honestly don't know what you see in me, that you aren't already in possession of yourself." Jesus, not this again. Clint sits back down, debating ignoring him and arguing with him. And then Phil matter-of-factly adds; "You're no narcissist." He helps lift Clint back up again.

"Stop focusing on the chest and arms thing." Clint's getting a little exasperated by this body-comparison nonsense. "And don't kinkshame me, either. If you don't like what-"

"I'm not kinkshaming you."

Clint drops down hard again, rolling his hips once he's sitting. "Then stop trying to figure this out and just accept that I'm really fucking attracted to you."

Phil pulls him bodily forward, which abruptly shifts his dick inside Clint and instead of meeting Phil's mouth in a kiss, it's more of a gasp. Clint keeps trying to work himself up and down but he doesn't move very much in either direction until he leans away to catch his breath. Then he gets back to riding Phil hard and heavy. 

"You're going to break my pelvis if you-" Phil interrupts himself with a rough groan as Clint lifts and quickly drops hard again, "-if you  _keep_  sitting on it that hard."

"Is-  _mmm_  - 's that a request to stop?"

"No," Phil grunts, "just warning-  you-  that you're gonna have to drive-  me to the hospital when we're done."

"Fair enough," Clint pants. He does slow down though - he wants to keep going hard but he can keep it more controlled than he has been. He's trying to make this last anyways. "Ugh, keep lifting me." 

Phil's fingers tighten against his sides and Clint feels the muscles under his own hands clench, "I don't know that-"

"So hot," Clint says over him, "Feels so good." He pushes down and surges up three times before pausing on the upward draw. It's meant to be just a little teasing - in the draw-out-the-good-feeling kind of way but apparently it's a second too long. 

" _Yeah_ ," he groans as Phil pulls him down onto his cock. "Hell fucking yeah. Do that again."

Phil obliges and they roll back into a slow up-down. Clint lifts one hand to the wall behind Phil so he can lean forward and get more than just a tickle against his cock. He whimpers when Phil helps pull him close. 

"Mmm, sweetheart," he moans softly, arching out enough to kiss Clint's neck. Another quiet noise escapes Clint. 

With his weight on the wall, it's easier for Phil to lift and lower Clint, but he does nothing to increase the pace. So Clint holds steady.

"Come here," Phil bids and it has Clint falling a little breathlessly into his lap. His hand slides up the arm he's got a hold of to Phil's shoulder and he rubs at it, quickly distracted by the way it fits into his palm. Phil kisses up his neck and jaw to his lips and Clint presses their mouths together until he can't breathe. His head tips back as he pants and he gears himself up to start moving. 

It hits Clint hard and heavy when Phil rolls up into him - his hand slips a little on the wall. He gasps and tightens his grip on Phil's arm, " _Phil_ \-  Again, please, again-"

Phil drags him into a kiss and humps upwards again. Clint grips Phil's bicep to steady himself from the motion. He starts to do his part again. The bubbles of the rising water tickle just above his knees as he sits and rocks in Phil's lap. 

He wants Phil to say something again - anything. His voice is too low and too rough when he asks for it; "Keep talking." 

Phil won't ask what it is that Clint wants him to say - despite the vagueness of the request. He'll make an educated guess then go with his gut. Phil presses up into Clint. 

"You make me want to do more than just work you like this."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Clint asks, "You want to ravage me?"

"Didn't we take care of that earlier?" Phil starts to nip at his neck. 

Clint glows at the banter and the way he uses -  _keeps_ using - 'we'. "You want to ravage me again?"

"I'd rather keep at this," he tugs at Clint's hips and makes him wobble on his perch. "I want you like this, but I want you closer, too." 

Clint leans into the lips on his neck, "Don't know how much closer we can get." He lifts himself up just so he can enjoy settling back down. He's slow enough to clench deliciously a few times.  

Phil sucks in a breath, "You're so good at this. Can hardly stand it." Clint knows he's good at sex though. And Phil knows that he knows. "Mmm- like it's more than letting me shove my dick up inside you," he elaborates. "As lame as it sounds, it's about the two of us here together ... I-" he breaks off in a sigh. Clint doesn't think he can put it into words either.

"Always do make a great team, Phil," he tells him instead, and leans in to seal their mouths together. Phil seems like he's searching for words when they part. "I know what you're saying," Clint assures him, "Keep doing what you're doing." 

He's looking up at Clint so carefully. "Is it good?" he asks, earnest. 

Clint's heart lurches and buries his nose against the side of Phil's head, "So good. So fucking good." He blinks at the condensation droplets on the tile in front of him. Everything - even the air - is so warm and full. He's trying to hold on to the feeling that neither of them can manage to pin down. "Do you-" he gasps, "you feel it too?"

"What?" Phil grunts on a lift. "I'm feeling quite a lot-  _unh_. What am I supposed to be feeling?"

They're both panting heavily. Clint wants to squeeze his eyes shut but there's no way he's cutting himself off like that. There's too much to notice. 

"Like you're about to fall apart."

"Yeah," Phil whispers, "Yeah, I feel that." 

Their breaths echo around them. "It's close," he whispers back.

"Christ," Phil gasps. "Do you want to go faster?"

The foaming water splashes against his thighs as he pumps up and down. Clint shakes his head, "This is perfect." He shifts and winds his arms around Phil's neck as he bears down. He's caught between wanting to reach for the finish and holding fast to where they are right now. 

Phil's breathing is ragged, "You said this means a lot to you ..." Clint keeps rocking as he lets Phil think. "God, you have no idea how much it does for me. I swear-" 

A heaviness drops inside of Clint and it's hot and wonderful. 

Phil's nose digs into Clint's jaw as he pushes closer, "Sometimes I just want to tuck you away inside my chest."

Clint falls until there's no room between their bodies. He twists to get Phil's lips on his own and their faces brush in sticky points of contact. Phil makes him want impossible things - like the ability to accurately express himself, or be curled up under someone else's ribs. He's always made Clint feel a little loved. The kisses drag on and Phil's hands slide up to wrap around him. Clint folds himself willingly into the full-body embrace. 

"Phil," he sighs, shuddery and achy. His heartbeat is in his mouth - _one, two, three; one, two, three; one, two, three_  - twice as fast as the pace he's riding Phil at.  
This is way more than he'd signed up for this evening.  
The tightness in his chest feels good, bracing, and the rocking isn't making his muscles cramp. The repetition is fulfilling. It's like he's riding a wave that won't stop cresting.  Phil gives a groan that's half sigh. Clint's throat clicks when he swallows and he clenches his knees around Phil's sides because he still can't get close enough. His cock rolls between them, dragging against Phil's stomach. 

"Please tell me you're close," Phil's voice is tight. 

Clint nods, a little wild, "I am- I'm close."

They grunt in time with one another as Clint keeps sitting down hard then hoisting himself back up. They're going so slowly but Clint is loving every second and he can practically taste the finish. Phil buries his face against Clint's shoulder, mouthing at the skin there.

 "Can you do something for me?" he pants. 

"Anything," Clint says - steady and sure and hoping that whatever it is isn't too difficult. 

Phil kisses the skin against his lips, "Can you-  tell me again that you love me?"

Clint cries out as he sinks down and comes all over Phil's stomach. 

"Yes, fuck," he keeps riding as he finishes because there's still a hard cock inside him. "I love you Phil. Love you like it'll kill me." 

The two of them are wound so close together. Phil's head is pressed against the side of Clint's neck as his body glides up and down. Phil keeps making these thick desperate noises and holding on tight. 

"Clint," he chokes, "Oh, God."

The raw pressure against Clint's freshly sensitive prostate is maddening. His cock slips across the come he's spilled over Phil's belly. 

"Me too- tell me too, please, please, Phil-" he's suddenly desperate to be reassured. 

"Oh-" Phil chokes, "Yes, yes. So much, sweet boy. How could I not-?"

Clint crushes their mouths together in a sloppy kiss. His eyes are shut tight as he presses forward then down, forward then down, trying not to let them separate in any way. His arms hold fast where they're wreathed around Phil's neck and it keeps their foreheads pressed together. 

"Once more," Phil pleads, tight and barely audible. 

Clint peeks his eyes open - can't resist looking at Phil right now. "I love you," he says again. He hauls himself up then back down again, then again. Phil's eyes flutter closed with a sigh. Clint trembles and clenches as he feels his insides coated in hot come. God, that's satisfying. 

"Tell me about it," Phil answers, because apparently he'd said that out loud. He's still shuddering beneath Clint, the last strains of his orgasm rolling through him. Clint cranes his neck to press kisses over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. 

All Phil's muscles unclench at once when he's stopped coming. Clint slumps down against Phil's collarbone, his arms just barely hanging around Phil's shoulders. Phil's hands hold loose around the base of Clint's back. His fingers are gentle enough to tickle as they trace the dimples of his spine. 

Clint heaves a contented sigh. "Can we do that in the bed tomorrow morning?"

"Have sex?" Phil asks, expression and tone a little befuddled, like maybe he thinks Clint's joking. 

This may be where he draws the line: outright asking for it. Clint turns his head away enough to make his face unreadable. Which, he recognizes, probably says enough on his own. 

"Ohhh," Phil says softly with realization, and Clint startles a little as Phil shifts them both and leans in to nose at his the shell of his ear and down the side of his face. "You meant the pet names," Phil shifts again and seals a kiss against his throat, "and the way we took our time - the gentleness," another kiss, higher up. "You don't want to have sex," Phil's teeth and lips graze his jawbone, "you want to make love."

Clint does a full-body shudder. He's so shaky and loose tonight. 

"Is that all you want?" Phil asks and Clint can't tell if he's eager or teasing, "Are there other nice things I can give you and share with you?"

The idea that Phil wants to share anything with him is a stretch. He talks himself into it by reasoning that he's been a part of Phil's life for a while - welcome in his office and his home and his private life. 

It's still really fucking embarrassing that he's reacting this way. 

So he stays slumped against Phil like he's hiding his face - or a lazy imitation of it - with his arms looped around Phil's neck and his face planted just above the crook of Phil's shoulder. 

"Oh my god," Clint mumbles against the side of Phil's neck. "I can't believe you; I cannot believe how perfect you are." He rubs the tip of his nose back and forth across the delicate skin where Phil's neck meets his collarbone. 

"Good then?" he asks, his fingers scrape soft like flower petals from hip to hip. 

Clint nods shyly.

"Does that mean I can treat you? Spoil you and be affectionate?"

"Fuck, you can take me to the opera if you keep holding me like this and fucking me as good as you just did," he arches back into Phil's touch as much as he can without really moving. 

"Would you like that?" Phil asks, and now there's something - not teasing, but maybe goading, to his words. "Would you like if I took you out and showed you off? Showed you a good time?"

Clint can tell that the offer is serious, which is the only reason he responds with, "Yeah." He sounds giddy and a little breathless. The idea of getting dressed up for Phil - going out and doing something refined that Phil wanted to do with _him_ is suddenly enticing. 

He knows Phil loves a good ballgame and a slice of Chicago deep dish just as much as the next guy, and that he's definitely going to enjoy those things with him (because Clint likes them too, and pizza is pizza even if New York style  _is_  more authentic). But Phil wanting to include him in his high-brow activities - Phil thinking he's worth taking out, that he  _can_  and maybe should be taken to nice places - it's a total reversal of what he was telling himself an hour ago. It's thrilling and sets his stomach just a little bit aflutter. 

"This goes both ways, you know," Clint tells him. "We don't have'ta talk about it now, but I was actually a little serious about the power-play. You'd have so much fun with that - I would too. And you can bet I'm gonna blow your mind with all the acrobatic shit I can get up to."

"I don't doubt it," Phil says low, and sexy against his mouth. They spend just a few minutes more in the still-rising water before Phil prods Clint into getting up and rinsing off. Then, together, they sleepily help wipe each other down. The towels get tossed atop the hamper and they stumble as a unit down the short hall into Phil's bed. It's a group effort to worm their way under the sheets and up to where their heads can actually rest on the pillows. 

Without a second thought, Clint is nuzzling into Phil's space and cuddling against him. There isn't even a moment to concern himself with fears of crossing a boundary before Phil's wrapping an arm around him and heaving him close. Clint makes some quiet noises and wriggles closer, tightening his grip. 

Phil chuckles, "I'm going to have so much fun with you."

Clint grins into Phil's chest; he thinks so, too. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You've reached the end of the line. Thank you for joining me on another tour of the Marvel Universe. Your attention, in addition to kudos and comments, is appreciated. Please exit safely, and mind the gap.  
> You can find me on tumblr at my [ Marvel blog](mrwonderwoman.tumblr.com). I'd love to talk about story ideas and these fuckers all day long.
> 
> This fic was both exactly what I was aiming for and nothing like what I wanted it to be.
> 
> I didn't base this off the Paul McCartney song - I'm no good at writing songfics - but I was listening to it while I was working on this at one point and I thought it was fitting enough to serve as a title. 
> 
> Hit me up and tell me how I did with this one guys. 
> 
> **If you liked this story you may also like:**  
> [I'll Learn To Dance If You Promise Not To Laugh](http://archiveofourown.org/works/667609/chapters/1219336) by [torakowalski](http://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/pseuds/torakowalski)  
> [Handler and Agent](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4654248) by [DiaryofaWriter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DiaryofaWriter/pseuds/DiaryofaWriter)  
> [No Strings](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4212531) by [ruanyu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ruanyu/pseuds/ruanyu)  
> 


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